


i'm just gonna keep on waiting (underneath the mistletoe)

by star_munches



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Comedy, F/M, Gen, GotG Holiday 2018 Challenge, Grief, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Kragdu, Mistletoe, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, rated for language, this is the least angstiest thing i've posted to date and i am proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_munches/pseuds/star_munches
Summary: They're in the common area, once again teaching Drax how to do his part—when Gamora refuses his ass, that's when you jump in under the doorway so that you 'n Quill hafta kiss! Humiliate him even more! No, you have to, it's tradition, remember?—when Quill notices what they're doing for the first time."Hey, what're you guys doing?" he asks, standing in the doorway and looking a little pathetic in his usual humie way."It's a secret," Rocket says immediately.Okay, so maybe they're not the best at the wholedeflectingpart. Whatever.(or: With help from Groot, Rocket discovers Quill's dumb Terran tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. Together, he and Kraglin fabricate a master plan to humiliate him, once and for all.)For Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Challenge Prompt #1: It's a Secret





	i'm just gonna keep on waiting (underneath the mistletoe)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the iconic All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey (overused as hell, but... the title works so whatever)
> 
> I wrote 80% of this at four o'clock in the morning! Yay! Also, for once, I didn't write something completely, unnecessarily angsty, which I consider an achievement.
> 
> I hate how this starts but it gets better (I think) so... just bear with me
> 
> Takes place roughly a month after Vol. 2.

_Now I told you, so you ought to know_

_It takes some time for a feeling to grow_

The chords of an unfamiliar song strum through the little black buds in Peter’s ears, engulfing him in a pleasant melody. He hasn’t heard this one before—it wasn’t on the Walkman, and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t heard back when he was on Earth—but it’s a good song, nonetheless.

_For you are a magnet and I am steel…_

For once, Peter can’t hear the others from outside his quarters. No snarkiness from Rocket, no shouting from Drax, no berating from Gamora. No cries of _‘I am Groot!’_ or confused whispers coming from Mantis; no, tonight, everyone has chosen to keep quiet. Maybe it’s because of the exhausting job they’d completed today—it was relatively danger-free, yes, but tiring and time-consuming all the same. Or maybe it’s because of the general solemn atmosphere the team has picked up on since what happened at… at Ego’s planet, four weeks and three days ago.

Whatever the case, it’s nice to be able to lie down on his bed, in the captain's quarters in the Quadrant _(his_ quarters, Peter remembers, although the concept hasn't really sunk in yet) and take a moment to relax.

Peter loves his friends, he really does—not that he'd ever admit that—but it's no secret that they can be… overbearing. Though lately, Rocket has been less of an asshole, Drax has acted kinder, and Groot has generally more well-behaved. They've been keeping their respective distance as much as possible since last month. Only Gamora is closer than before—and that's for a whole other reason entirely.

 _Gamora…_ one month after their ‘unspoken thing’ has officially been made spoken, and still, they've made no progress in their relationship. Or, well—if you don't count their cuddling after _the event_ —but Peter doesn't really remember a whole lot of that (destroying your father’s planet and watching your sort-of-dad die in front of you can do that to a person) so it shouldn't really count. And yes, they've cuddled a few times since then— _she even kissed him, three weeks and four days ago_ —but nothing public, nothing official.

Still. Peter could never bring himself to be frustrated. He respects Gamora—he's willing to take this any pace that makes her comfortable. Even though Rocket _constantly_ makes fun of him when Gamora’s not looking.

The song fades out as it comes to an end, leaving Peter in silence. He stares at the ceiling of the room, content, as the first few notes of the next song begin.

Peter inhales sharply. It’s familiar— _too_ familiar.

_There’s a port_

_On a western bay_

Heart pounding, Peter reaches for the Zune and desperately tries to find the _skip_ button. _Nononono please no not this song anything but this song—_

_And it serves_

_A hundred ships_ —

Peter’s fingers find their place on the skip button. He frantically presses once, twice, a hundred times, anything to get that cursed song out of his head.

Adrenaline still pumps through Peter’s veins. _Shit,_ he thinks, heat rushing to his ears. Thank god none of the others were there to witness that.

He’d thought he’d been getting better. And maybe he is—at least he's finally moved into the captain's quarters, without relying on Gamora’s presence for reassurance—but Peter knows, deep down, that things will never be the same again.

_He will never forgive Ego for ruining his mother's favorite song._

He's so distraught that he doesn't recognize the new song playing, nor does he necessarily care. But when he recognizes the song, a song Peter hasn't heard in nearly three decades, he freezes.

That song… Peter _knows_ that song. He'd heard it, once a year, every year until the day he was picked up on Earth. He remembers his mother's voice, clear as a summer's day, singing it without a care in the world. Peter _knows_ that song.

_Sleigh bells ring, are you listening_

_In the lane, snow is glistening_

_A beautiful sight_

_We're happy tonight_

_Walking in a winter wonderland…_

Christmas. That's what this song is for. Peter remembers when he was younger, the first few years after he'd been taken by Yondu, how he'd tried to track the date of the holiday. He'd wanted to celebrate Christmas just like he'd done with his mom; with presents, stockings, mistletoe, and whatever else his eight-year-old mind had fantasized about. Eventually, though, he'd given up, deeming it worthless and just a waste of time.

_Because Christmas just isn't the same without a family to celebrate it with._

Peter realizes with a pang in his heart that Yondu _was_ his family, after all; but he quickly forces himself to dismiss it. Besides, it's not like his sort-of-dad would actually celebrate this obscure Terran holiday with him.

A light knock at the door jerks Peter out of his thoughts. Sitting up, Peter yanks the buds out of his ears and straightens his shirt.

He clears his throat. “Come in!”

The door creaks open. Peter cranes his neck, hoping to find a certain green-skinned former assassin at the other side; but instead, someone much smaller steps in.

“I am Groot?”

A grin breaks out on Peter’s face anyway. “Hey, buddy! What are you doing up so late? Isn't it past your bedtime?”

“I am Groot,” the young tree responds, shrugging.

Learning to understand Groot’s language has been a slow and tedious process, but the team _is_ improving, one step at a time. Peter knows how Rocket scoffs at them in the background when they misinterpret something Groot said—but hey, can you blame them? Learning a language that only consists of three words is, quite frankly, _hard._

At least this time Peter has _some_ semblance of an understanding of what Groot had said.

“You… can’t sleep?”

Groot shakes his head.

“Okay, well…” Peter scratches the back of his head. “I was just listening to some music. You wanna hop on up here?”

Wordlessly, Groot makes his way to Peter’s bunk, using his vines to hoist himself onto the mattress. He plops down beside him and looks up at him with eager eyes.

“I was just thinkin’ about this holiday we had back on Earth,” Peter says, figuring that a little bedtime story will help the youngster sleep. “It’s called Christmas. Haven’t thought about it in years, but… for some reason, a Christmas song is on the Zune, and it just reminded me of it.”

Peter turns the Zune over in his hands wistfully. He looks beside him to see Groot staring at him with concerned eyes.

“I am Groot?”

Peter smiles and reaches out a hand to gently stroke the little one’s back. “Nah, I’m not sad. I’m just remembering all the traditions I had with… with my mom. Just a bit nostalgic, I guess.” He lifts an earbud, offering it to Groot. “You wanna listen to the song?”

Groot nods enthusiastically.

They sit there in comfortable silence until the song draws to an end. When it’s over, Groot pushes the bud away from his ear and looks up at Peter expectantly.

He still doesn’t seem the least bit tired.

“O-okay,” Peter mumbles. He racks his brain for something, _anything_ to get this kid to sleep, but the whole crew knows getting Groot to sleep is like getting Rocket to not make bombs. _Impossible._ “Uhh, how about—do you want to hear a story about Christmas?”

“I am Groot.”

“Great,” Peter mutters, clearing his throat. “So, basically, Christmas is a day when all the families get together and—I don’t know, celebrate stuff. Anyways, so on this day—December 21st, I think—we’d have a bunch of other traditions, like getting presents from Santa, or decorating the Christmas tree, or—or kissing under the mistletoe…”

Peter’s face breaks into a grin.

Groot stares up at him inquisitively. “I am Groot?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, I just—” Peter chuckles, the memory his mind supplies his with too ridiculous to _not_ laugh out loud. “I was just reminded of this thing when I was younger,” he says. “The first few years after I left Earth, I tried to keep track of Christmas—y’know, since Earth dates are different from the rest of the galaxy. I told Yondu and Kraglin about the whole kiss-under-the-mistletoe thing, and at first, they thought it was stupid. Of course. They thought all my ‘weird Terran traditions’ were stupid. But later—” Peter snorts. “Later, I caught them makin’ out under the doorway, and when my dumb nine-year-old self asked why, they said it was because of the mistletoe. And I _believed_ it. Well, there was no mistletoe. And I’m pretty sure it was in the middle of July sometime.”

Peter glances back down at Groot, who looks more confused than ever.

“...right. You don’t know what mistletoe is. Or making out. Or July,” Peter scratches the back of his head. “Mistletoe is this… plant? Flower? I don’t really know. You hang it under doorways, or wherever, and when two people end up underneath it, they have to kiss.”

Groot ponders this for a long moment. Then: “I am Groot?”

Peter’s eyes widen. _Did he interpret that correctly?_ “Wh—what? Like me and Gamora? Where’d you get that idea?”

“I am Groot.”

“You caught us ki—” Peter groans. “That was _one time,_ Groot. Okay, a few more times than that. But whatever. She’d _never_ want to do it like that, because of my stupid traditions, in front of a bunch of people. Gamora’s not like that.”

“I am _Groot!”_

“No, I’m not going to put up mistletoe to get her to kiss me—that’s a stupid idea! Besides, it’s just as likely that someone like _Drax_ ends up next to me, and then I’ll have to kiss _him,_ which would be— _ugh._ I don’t even wanna think about that.” He glares at the young tree. “Now, are you gonna sleep or what? I don’t have any more stories for you.”

He does, in fact, have more stories—he _always_ does—but right now, he doesn’t have the energy or patience to deal with Groot’s… _nonsense._

 _Imagine kissing Gamora under the mistletoe,_ his mind orders. _Your fingers tangled in her hair as she slides her hands under your shirt, a soft moan escaping her lips_ —

 _Shut up, brain,_ Peter thinks.

Groot rolls his eyes. “I am Groot.”

In a matter of minutes, the two are more or less settled in for the night. The little tree is curled up against Peter’s side, having given up on trying to convince him to tell more stories. In the darkness of the captain’s quarters, Peter mumbles:

“G’night, Groot. And forget all that mistletoe stuff. ‘S never gonna happen.”

Groot mutters something akin to _goodnight_ in response. Peter’s eyes flutter closed.

But, right before sleep overtakes him and all coherent thoughts leave his mind, Peter could _swear_ he’d seen a smirk on Groot’s face.

_What’s that all about?_

 

* * *

 

“I am Groot! I am Groot! I am—”

“Okay, okay, sheesh! I’m up—calm down! Whaddya want, it’s freakin’ seven o’clock in the morning!”

Rocket rubs his eyes blearily, trying to regain his bearings while dealing with the positively _insane_ child in front of him.

“Aw, jeez, did you get into Quill’s candy stash again? This early in the morning? Goddammit, I _told_ him to—”

Groot cuts him off with an impatient stamp of his foot. “I am _Groot.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Rocket grumbles. “Just let me get up first, you can tell me later.”

He stumbles to the galley, Groot riding on his shoulder (while he still can; the kid’s getting bigger each day). It’s surprisingly empty—usually, Drax is up by this time, or at least Gamora. Quill usually doesn’t make it up until much later, neither does Kraglin. Rocket makes it a point to finish his breakfast _way_ before those two make it to the kitchen—the idea of sitting down with them and having to be _near_ them is, to be quite honest, repulsive.

Rocket snags a ration bar from the fridge and plops down on the chair by the kitchen table.

“So. What was so important that you just _had_ to tell me about while I was having ma’ precious dream about bombs?”

(He hadn’t, in fact, been dreaming about bombs; but ever since Quill said that during a rather _stale_ joke, Rocket’s been using it as a go-to cover up to hide what nightmares he’s _really_ been having.)

“I am Groot.”

Rocket groans. “So what? I don’t care about Quill’s weird Terra. Why should I care about—”

“I _am_ Groot!”

“Shit-mas? Wha’s Shit-mas? Why should I give a shit?”

“I am—”

“Good morning, friend,” a familiar voice says. Rocket whips his head around to find Drax entering the kitchen, a bowl of whatever-the-hell-Drax-eats in hand. “How are you?”

Rocket waves his paw dismissively and takes another bite of his ration bar. “‘m fine. Whatever. Groot over here was just tellin’ me about Shit-mas— _Christmas,_ whatever—still don’t know how any of this _matters_ —”

“I… am… Groot…”

He throws his arms in the air, exasperated. _“So?_ Does it look like I care about some kissin’-under-the-mistletoe shit? Why the hell does it—”

“I think he is trying to give you some sort of message with all of this,” Drax supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, no shit,” Rocket mutters and chucks the wrapper of his ration bar to the bin in the corner of the room. It misses by a long shot. “Whatever it is, you’re losing me, Groot. Just get to the point already.”

Groot sighs—god, are all children this _exhausting?_ —and hops onto the table in front of Rocket.

“I am Groot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am Groot.”

“Okay.”

“I am Groot.”

“Okay—wait, what? You’re telling me that the whole point of all that was because _you_ wanna use Quill’s dumbass tradition to get him and Gammy all smoochy-smoochy with each other?”

Groot shrugs. _Yeah, pretty much._

Drax frowns and takes a seat beside him. Rocket does his best not to lean away instinctively. “Wait, what is this tradition you speak of?”

“I don’t know! Ask Groot!” Rocket’s head falls forward to his paws in exasperation. “Apparently, Quill told him of this thing humies have called mistletoe, and if two people stand under it at the same time, they hafta make out. Sounds stupid, if you ask me, but for _some_ reason, Groot seems intent on the idea that Quill and _Gamora_ should do it! Like he’s some sort of terrible matchmaker!”

“That does seem like a bad idea,” Drax says, blunt as ever. “Gamora does not like public displays of affection. She would refuse this tradition, and leave Quill humiliated.”

“Exactly!” Rocket exclaims.

Then, slowly, he raises his head from his paws as realization dawns on him.

_Quill. Mistletoe. Gamora. Kiss. Humiliated._

Rocket can almost _feel_ the gears turning inside his own head.

“Exactly…”

Groot peers at him curiously. “I am… Groot?”

A grin spreads on Rocket’s face. “Oh, I see,” he says, cackling maliciously. “Oh, yeah, I think we can actually arrange that, Groot.”

“What made you change your mind?” Drax asks, his head tilted in confusion.

“Nothing. It’s just…” Rocket grins even wider. “I think I’ve got a way to get back at Quill. _Finally.”_

“Get back at him? For what?”

“For existing.”

Drax shrugs. “That’s fair.”

“I just gotta…” Rocket stands up, ready to move away from the table, only to find Groot’s face glaring back at him. “Don’t worry, Groot,” he says, trying his best to look earnest. “I’ll make sure Quill ‘n Gammy end up under the mistletoe together, just like you wanted.”

 

* * *

 

“Again, you want us to do _what?”_

Rocket rolls his eyes. “Do ya really want me to go through it again? ‘Cause I think I was pretty clear the first five times I went over it.”

Truth be told, when Rocket first approached Kraglin with the words, _hey, wanna help me come up with a plan to humiliate Quill?_ —Kraglin had been intrigued. Humiliating Quill is truly the only thing everyone on this ship can agree on.

There’s just so much joy in it when you get to see that humie’s face, all flushed and red with embarrassment, ya know?

But _this_ —this plan is taking it to a whole ‘nother level. And no, it’s not because it’s dangerous, or stupid, or reckless. In reality, it’s pretty simple—maybe even _too_ simple. Sometimes Kraglin doubts whether it will work or not.

No. It’s the painful, bittersweet memories that come along _with_ this plan that makes it hard to enjoy it.

He remembers Pete telling him about this particular tradition when he was younger—the d’ast kid could never shut up about that Terra of his. At first, Kraglin and the rest of the Ravagers hadn’t cared at all—but then, he and Yondu needed an excuse for a certain… _make-out session_ Quill had caught them doing in their older years, and mistletoe was the best they could come up with.

Something in Kraglin’s chest aches at the memory.

 _Come on, Kraglin,_ he thinks to himself. _Shove it down. It’s been a month._

 _That doesn’t make it any easier,_ his mind protests, but he forces himself to listen to the rodent anyway.

“Come on. I’ve done the research—in Terran time, this holiday is only in a couple ‘o days! It’s the perfect opportunity. Besides, it isn’t anything too… y’know. Too much. After everything that’s happened recently.”

Kraglin meets Rocket’s eyes, and though he scoffs and looks away after a moment, the former Ravager notices— _he cares._ The rodent really does care about his friends, scoff and snark and bullshit all he wants. It’s there.

Unfortunately, Kraglin is starting to think this plan is ‘too much’ for him anyway.

“Sorry, pal. Just don’t know if I can do it.”

“Ugh, _come on,”_ Rocket says, hopping down from the table he’d been standing on and looking up at Kraglin with an almost _pleading_ expression. “Groot won’t help me. Mantis don’t understand. Drax… well, I have other things in store for Drax. You’re the only other one with experience on the art of humiliating Quill, and I need your help.” He snorts. “Besides, their d’ast sexual tension is so thick, I could cut through it with a knife. It’ll be easy to embarrass him, trust me.”

Kraglin stares down at Rocket for a few moments—this lower life form he’s only gotten to know through Quill’s galaxy-saving, then the mutiny, then Yondu—and he realizes.

_Oh, why the hell not._

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you’re gonna need a lot of help. That plan o’ yours won’t do shit without some fixin’ up.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, a lot of planning goes down. Turns out, they don’t need a whole elaborate, drawn-out scheme for how this is gonna work; they just need to make sure that what they _do_ have outlined is fail-proof.

That’s why, in the middle of the third day, Kraglin pulls Rocket over for a talk.

“Are you sure this is gonna work? Y’know, the whole thing with Gammie shuttin’ down Pete ‘n embarrassing him? ‘Cuz if it doesn’t…”

“Oh, I know it will,” Rocket says. “Y’see, she might _like_ him, yeah. And yeah, they might have enough sexual tension to power a sun. _But_ —and you _know_ Gamora, well at least you know how she _is_ —Gammie’s private. Like, real private. She won’t do anything like that in public—won’t let anybody know she actually has some squishy-ishy soft feelings for Quill. So, like Drax said: no PDA for her. That’s where the plan comes in. Everyone’s gonna be there. Everyone’s gonna watch her reject him. We’ll video it too, just to piss him off even more. And if that ain’t enough to humiliate him, we’ve got other things in store.”

Kraglin nods, shooting him a brief glance of approval, before returning to his job of convincing Drax to do his part.

Rocket clasps his hands together. _Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good._

 

* * *

 

Later, they start putting the mistletoe up. Kraglin explains that they gotta do this subtly, putting no more than two branches up at a time—even though the Quadrant is _huge_ —to not raise suspicion. God knows Quill will be suspicious the minute he spots one—but of course, they made a _plan_ for when that happens. They’ll know what to do.

They’re not amateurs.

They’re in the common area, _once again_ teaching Drax how to do his part— _when Gamora refuses his ass, that’s when you jump in under the doorway so that you ‘n Quill hafta kiss! Humiliate him even more! No, you have to, it’s tradition, remember?_ —when Quill notices what they’re doing for the first time.

“Hey, what’re you guys doing?” he asks, standing in the doorway and looking a little pathetic in his usual humie way.

“It’s a secret,” Rocket says immediately.

Okay, so maybe they’re not the best at the whole _deflecting_ part. Whatever.

Quill raises his eyebrows. “I was just walkin’ to my room when I heard you all _interacting,_ so naturally, I got a little concerned for your health and well-being.” He frowns. “Or maybe _mine_."

“It’s nothin’, Pete,” Kraglin steps in. “Just going over some stuff I heard at that Contraxian bar two nights ago. Hey, did you hear about that Krylorian woman who just got it on with a dude who had a _completely_ different—”

“‘Kay, got it,” Quill mutters. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

He takes a few steps out of the room but stops when something apparently catches his eye.

He points to the doorway he’d just been standing under and frowns. “Hey, is that… mistletoe?”

_Shit._

Wait, what did Rocket say before? Oh, right— _they’re not amateurs._

Rocket gives Groot a pointed look— _go! Your turn! Do it! Now!_ —and the tree does the one job he was assigned to do.

“I am Groot.”

Quill’s eyes immediately widen. “What?”

“I am _Groot.”_

“Really? You guys—you really went through all that trouble… of researching Christmas and Terran traditions... for me? Even looked up the dates and everything?”

Groot nods, shooting Rocket a glare when Quill isn’t looking.

 _“Aww,”_ Quill gushes, and Rocket is sure the humie would disintegrate before his eyes if he got any mushier. “You guys!”

Soon, they’re all wrapped up in a group hug—which Rocket did _not_ consent to, thank you very much—and Rocket figures this is the least he could pay for coming up with such a master plan and tricking Quill as much as he has.

When the Terran is gone—and they’re all grateful for that, even Groot—Rocket looks determinedly at his teammates.

“Alright. I don’t wanna deal with this mushy humie anymore. We’ll just humiliate him, and he’ll get out of our hair soon enough.” Rocket stands up. “We’ll do the prank tomorrow. But first—let’s go over the plan, one last time.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh! Hey, Gamora!”

Gamora smiles. “Hi, Peter.”

She shuts her door quietly behind her and starts making her way down the dim-lit hallway, Peter in tow.

“Where are you headed?” he whispers. She’s about to call him out on this—there’s no reason for him to whisper, after all—but in the end, she decides to simply let it be.

“Just down the hallway and to the common area,” Gamora says, pointing accordingly.

Peter nods a few too many times to be considered normal. “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Cool.” Then he bites his lip.

Gamora frowns. Peter has been acting… strange lately. It’s difficult, because it’s not like the sadness that’s erupted in the past month because of Ego and Yondu, and it’s not his normal quirkiness, either. It’s still indescribably _Peter,_ in a way… but the fact that Gamora can’t find the source or reason for it frustrates her.

They walk to the common area silently, the thick tension between them increasing significantly. Which _also_ frustrates Gamora, because— _isn’t this what you wanted? To keep this unspoken thing unspoken?_ —but also— _face it. All you want is to break that wall of tension down. All you really want is to press your lips against his, tangle your fingers in his hair and hear him let out a soft sigh against your mouth_ —

Gamora’s line of thought is broken as soon as they arrive in the common area. For some unidentifiable reason, the whole crew is there—even Kraglin, who _hates_ participating in anything team-like. They’re all doing one thing or another, staring at their holos inconspicuously—but Gamora can see straight through them.

They’ve been expecting the two of them.

But now, they’re all simply playing dumb, she supposes. _Alright,_ Gamora thinks. _Two can play this game. Or_ — _well, seven._

She puts her hands on her hips. “So… what’s going on?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Rocket responds, not looking up from his holo.

“Just reading the news,” Drax says—when Gamora can very clearly see that he’s staring at a blank screen.

_Whatever game they’re playing… they’re all really, really bad at it._

Gamora starts to automatically scan the room for any threats. _Dangerous weapons?_ Nope. _Traps or pranks?_ None in sight. _Rocket’s explosives?_...none that Gamora can see (but she’s almost always wrong).

The only thing different about the room is the weird tree thing that Rocket and Kraglin put in the middle, covered in toilet paper and cheap candles that drip wax onto the floor. They told her that it’s part of Peter’s Terran tradition called Shit-mas, but for some reason, Gamora has a hard time believing that. If this were about the tree, Rocket would be grinning smugly and glancing at it every few seconds.

No. He’s not looking at the tree. Gamora follows Rocket’s line of sight—he’s looking at the plant-thing above their heads.

 _Mistletoe,_ Rocket had called it.

He hadn’t offered an explanation as to what it is.

Peter follows her line of sight as well, and straight up _yelps_ when he spots the plant. Everyone looks up, alarmed; but now, Peter’s glaring at _Groot_ for some reason, who’s stomping his foot and pointing at _Rocket,_ which is all making Gamora very confused.

“Could someone bother to explain what’s going on here?” Gamora demands.

Peter is now trying to move away from the doorway, but Rocket moves in front of him to block his movement. He then tries to move _backward,_ but he’s blocked again, and Gamora just wishes for someone to answer her damn question.

“Do you know Quill’s Terran holiday traditions, Gamora?” Drax asks eventually.

“Some,” she admits. “But not all.”

“Do you know the legend of the mistletoe?”

“A-a-alright, that’s enough, Drax,” Peter cuts in, kicking Rocket in the chest to keep him from blocking him. “I think I’m just gonna have a seat now—we were here to discuss our budget, right? Don’t think it’s time to talk about my _dumb_ traditions… Rocket—get— _away_ —from me—”

Gamora grabs him by the collar of his leather jacket before he manages to get away. She pulls him back to the doorway, looking at him straight in the eye.

His cheeks are flushed, she notices.

“H—hey,” he sputters, but Gamora doesn’t have time for that right now.

“Will you tell me what’s going on here?” she demands. “How much longer do I have to stand here like an idiot before you explain what this is?”

“I, uh…” Peter looks down, not quite meeting her eyes. “Well, do you want me to explain the tradition? Or, uh, me trying to get away? Because trust me, don’t take offense to that, it has nothing to do with you—well, actually, it has everything to do with you, but that’s irrelevant—”

 _“Peter,”_ she says sternly.

Rocket snickers faintly in the background.

He swallows. “Right. So. Mistletoe, huh? It’s just this thing—where, uh—well… iftwopeoplestandunderthemistletoethentheyhavetokiss.”

Gamora stares at him. “What?”

Peter clears his throat. “According to Terran tradition—actually, according to random Christmas movies I saw as a kid, I never actually saw this tradition in action—if two people stand under the mistletoe, then they have to… well, kiss.”

Gamora faintly realizes that she still has her hand on Peter’s chest, from where she grabbed his collar.

She lets go.

“So… you’re saying that, since we are standing under it, we must… perform this tradition?”

“Yes.”

It’s not so much a response as it is a whisper.

Again, out of the corner of her eye, Gamora does a quick scan of her situation.

Mantis is staring at them, eyes wide with apprehension. Drax is also watching them, expressionless as always but somehow displaying some degree of interest. Groot is at the edge of his seat, quite literally—for a moment, Gamora is scared he might fall off.

Kraglin is sitting there with a smirk.

Rocket has an identical shit-eating grin.

_And don’t think for a second Gamora won’t notice those micro-cameras he installed in the room; what is she, an amateur assassin?_

It’s clear that they’re playing some sort of game. And Gamora is _not_ about to get played.

There’s a voice in her head, telling her _you can’t do this in public, people are watching you, judging you, you can’t be vulnerable to them_ —but she realizes that this is exactly what Rocket and Kraglin _want_ her to think.

Gamora makes up her mind.

“Well, if it’s tradition…” Gamora looks back to Peter, her attention drawn to his surprisingly full lips, “I think we should honor it. Don’t you?”

Gamora crashes her lips to his.

For a brief moment, Gamora hears and sees nothing. She only feels—feels his soft lips against hers, feels her fingers in his hair, feels his hands up her back.

It’s only when Peter lets out the slightest sigh against her lips that the room erupts into chaos.

“NOT IN THIS FUCKING HOUSEHOLD! I DID _NOT_ SIGN UP FOR THIS SHIT!”

“Wha—but—Rocket! Ya said she wouldn’t—what happened to the plan?!”

“I am GROOOOOOOOT!”

“Can everyone please stop shouting, it is unpleasant for my ears when—”

“BWAHAHA! ROCKET! YOUR PLAN FAILED! YOU MUST FEEL SO HUMILIATED! BWAHAHAHA!”

“Ah, jeez. This is what I get for listening to a rodent like you.”

“CALL ME RODENT ONE MORE TIME—”

Something crashes in the background. Gamora ignores it. She’s too busy wallowing in the intoxicating feeling of kissing Peter Quill.

Eventually, they both have to break apart for air.

“I like this tradition,” Gamora mutters into his lips. She manages a brief glance at the others; Rocket is currently chasing a frustrated Kraglin around the room, Drax is laughing his head off and pointing at Rocket, Mantis is sitting with her head in her lap, covering her ears. Only Groot seems okay, but that’s because he’s staring up at Gamora and Peter with an expression of pure, unadulterated joy.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Rocket grumbles, pausing his chasing game with Kraglin to stalk up to the young tree, covering his eyes. He glares up and Gamora and Peter. “This is _not_ kid-friendly!”

“Grow up, Rocket, it was just a kiss,” Gamora says. But she can still feel her heart warm at the words. _A kiss. With Peter Quill. You just kissed Peter Quill in front of everyone._

There’s still that lingering anxiety, that sensation of mistrust and vulnerability that Gamora is too scared to face—but for now, she ignores it.

With one last glance at the chaos that is the Guardians of the Galaxy’s common area—an overturned, toilet-paper wrapped Christmas tree, one flipped table, at least three broken chairs, and more—Gamora takes Peter’s hand and squeezes it.

“Thank you for introducing me to this tradition,” she whispers.

She hadn’t thought it was possible for Peter’s cheeks to flush even more in color; apparently, she’d been wrong.

She supposes that, originally, their affections for each other were to remain a secret—an “unspoken thing,” as they’d both called it. At the very least, they were supposed to be private, known to only each other, unbeknownst to the rest of the team.

 _This,_ Gamora thinks as she examines the chaos throughout the room that is her team, _is much better._

**Author's Note:**

> anyways I have no idea what this turned into but... yeah it happened you're welcome
> 
> The songs in this fic are Magnet and Steel by Walter Egan, Brandy by Looking Glass (rip), and Winter Wonderland by... someone.
> 
> If you liked it, please let me know down below!! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://star_munches.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I wish you all a lovely, stress-free holiday season.


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